The Trampled Rose
by lauraforthewinoswald
Summary: Sherlock added "Even if our murder victim was a wretched slime of a human being we still have to find his killer." "And thank him for doing us all a favor" Watson scoffed.
1. Chapter 1

The slums of Middlesex Street; or Petticoat Lane as the locals still referred to it; was darker then usual. The Ripper murders still hung over everyone's recent memories and Harmya Rose Verma; being who she was; was always on edge when it came to who she ought to trust.

She liked to think at least she had Amos and Bartholomew McMillan watching over her most times. She somewhat hated their constant possessiveness but she'd much rather be smothered by too much attention then by the hands of someone fond of cutting people to ribbon.

She walked quickly past the vendors avoiding eye contact. Climbing up a rickety spiral staircase she reached her small flat. Letting out a sigh of relief she took off her shoes and her hat shaking her long black hair loose. It hung down to her waist.

Although she wore more traditionally Indian clothing when she was dancing she didn't like to draw too much attention to herself outside of work so she dressed like your average British woman while walking the streets. Technically speaking she was British. She was born and raised in London but her parents were immigrants. She tried not to speak too much around customers so her perfectly average British accent wouldn't detract from the allure of the foreign and "exotic"; which was the whole point of her job.

She placed her small hat on the dresser. It was black and decorated with plum colored feathers, magenta flower petals and a big black bow. She was quite fond of it and wore it often. She'd leave little traces of plum colored feathers everywhere she went.

She hated how constricting her clothing was when she wasn't dancing. The collar of her amethyst colored dress clung to her neck. She undressed till she was finally down to her black bloomers and camisole and fell like a tired rag doll onto her bed.

Her life was nocturnal. She worked at the saloon entertaining drunkards with her dancing by night and slept the morning away. She'd slept in the cot in her dressing room till the sun came out. Bartholomew wouldn't let her walk at night.

Bart ran the establishment along with his brother Amos. Poor Amos was always under Bart's thumb and rarely made any real decisions about how to run the business. Amos rarely spoke for himself either. Bartholomew always spoke for him. So when Amos was without his brother he had trouble speaking. He mumbled and flushed red whenever he tried to speak with Harmya especially.

Amos was a tall man standing a little over 6 feet. To add to his largeness he carried a lot of solid weight. It wasn't plump nor was it muscular either. I guess it's what some would call "big boned". His looks were far more intimidating then he actually was.

Sherlock Holmes and John Watson walked into the saloon right as Harmya was about to begin her dance. Watson, being the straight laced and well principled man that he was, was highly uncomfortable and continuously fiddled with his collar as if every turn of Harmya's hips was somehow tightening his shirt's grip around his neck. Sherlock on the other hand watched smiling mostly out of sheer interest in the intricacies of the dance itself rather then on Harmya.

Sherlock rarely showed any interest in intimacy with woman. His only real fascination with them was mostly on a scientific level; as was his fascination with most anything. Brilliant as he was, he never could grasp emotional connections very well. Watson on the other hand sometimes seemed to wear his heart on his sleeve.

The two men caught up with her after her performance in her dressing room. Harmya seemed surprised to hear Bartholomew had been murdered.

"How did it happen?" she asked wrapping up her sparkling purple and gold belly dance costume in a black silk robe as she let the two detectives in her dressing room.

"Seems he made the wrong person angry. It looked as if a fight between him and one other individual escalated to a fist fight which escalated to a knife fight." Sherlock explained. "It must have been someone he knew well for there was no evidence whatsoever that someone tried to break into the home and no one invites a complete stranger into their home in the middle of the night. His body was found in the dinning room where most of the fight took place. It seems Bart used a fork that had been sitting on the table to stab the murderer so our killer will have a distinctive mark either on this arm or neck. Most likely the left side of his body since Bartholomew was right handed. If the attacker was coming at him head on, as I suspect, he would have slashed the attackers left side" at this point he was really thinking out loud to himself.

Harmya interrupts his thoughts. "Well, what is it you need from me?" she asked sitting down on an off white couch with gold trim. That is, wood painted gold trim. Her voice was soft and a little shaken.

"We simply need to ask some questions about Mr. McMillan. His day to day routine or if there was anything out of the ordinary that you may have noticed in the last few days you'd seen him" said Watson in a polite tone of voice one uses when speaking to a woman in distress.

Harmya smiled at Watson not hiding her infatuation with the handsome doctor and thought of what to say. "Well" she began "Really the only strange thing was that he didn't come in today" she shrugged. "I honestly don't know what could have happened." she took a deep breath as she looked up at the ceiling in thought. "I'm not too surprised he got into a fight with the wrong person though, It's not polite to speak ill of the dead but he was known for his temper and for his need to control everything. God forbid the man didn't get his way"

"Did his temper ever get physically violent, Ms. Verma?" Sherlock asked in a clinical and direct tone of voice.

"Why would you ask?" Harmya seems to be put slightly on edge by the question.

"Just noticing the bruising on your wrists." Sherlock points to the slight bruising hiding underneath her bangle bracelets.

"I do a lot of dancing and I sometimes hurt myself a little during practices" she says.

"Well, is there any names you can remember of anyone he may have had a scuffle with recently?" Watson asks.

Harmya just shrugs. "I hear people saying things about him all the time. Some might just be telling lies. I really don't know any details. I stay out of those sorts of confrontations. He'd never allow me to ..…" she tried to find the right words "He was very protective of me. Talk to his brother, Amos. He may be able to help."

"Thank you very much for your time madam. You've been most helpful" Sherlock says while tipping his top hat.

"I sure hope so" Harmya adds. "Maybe we didn't always get along but he was the only father I really had."

"My condolences ma'am and we'll do what we can to bring this killer to justice." Watson bows a little as he speaks.

"Thank you very much, Doctor" she smiles at him again. "Mr. Holmes" she adds with a curtsy.

The two detectives leave the saloon and step aboard a carriage to head back to Baker st. "Well, she was obviously lying about the bruises" Sherlock says with a somewhat annoyed tone in his voice. "Does she honestly believe we would fall for her story about getting bruises on her wrists from dancing?"

"They did look as though they were made by two large hands. You could almost make out the slight marking of fingers." Watson seemed upset at the thought of someone trying to harm Harmya Rose.

"Could be our killers hands but also quite possibly the hands of our victim." Sherlock said looking out the window before adding. "Even if our victim was a wretched slime of a human being we still have to find his killer."

"And thank him for doing us all a favor" Watson scoffed.


	2. Chapter 2

"We still have to speak with his brother" said Holmes sitting in his arm chair with smoking pipe in hand.

"He wasn't at the saloon and neither was he at the scene when we arrived and the police were informed to tell the family." Watson said putting his gloves in his vest pocket. "Perhaps he's too overwhelmed by his brother's death to leave his home"

"Or perhaps this Amos McMillan knows more then he's willing to let on." Sherlock puffed on his pipe. "He seems to be the only living family Bartholomew had. I'm sure Amos knows a great deal about our victims temper. He could be the key to finding a suspect."

They weave through the crowd of vendors on Dudley St. and find themselves knocking at the front door of Amos's apartment.

"What?" the eye of a large man with a heavy cockney accent asks while hiding the rest of himself behind the door.

"Sir we're hear about the sad news of your brothers passing." Sherlock removes his hat. "May we please come inside? We have a few questions to ask"

"Ugh… sure….sure…" slowly Amos opens the door and lets the two men inside. It's a humble sort of home for what seemed like a humble sort of man. He shyly asked the men if they'd like any refreshments. They respectfully declined.

They sat across from Amos on the living room couch. "Now Mr. McMillan; we believe your brother was attacked after a serious altercation with another man. Was there any one you saw picking a fight with him recently or had your brother aggravated someone in any way that would have led to a knife fight?" Sherlock asked

"Well, Bartie was always hot headed." Amos began looking down at the ground. "I did my best to stay out of that sort of business."

"You wouldn't be the sort of man to engage in a fist fight" Sherlock said. "Even though I'm sure a man of your build could easily overcome an opponent." he added noting his hight and his hefty build. "What are you 6' 1"?"

"Yes I am" Amos said. "I've always been sort of a giant clumsy oaf" he added with a shy smirk.

"Did Bartie ever call you that?" Sherlock asked

Amos smirked again but this time looking a little less shy about it. "He said a lot, didn't he? Always a big mouth he was. It's no surprise he went and got himself killed"

"Were you close to your brother?" Sherlock noticed the slight tinge of anger in Amos' last sentence."

"Sure" Amos said looking at the ground again. "We ran the saloon together. We did everything together really. I was always two steps behind him"

"When did you see him last before his death, Mr. McMillan" Watson chimed in.

"Uh…right before he left work. He was …. just taking care of some last minute things before he left for home and I caught him on his way out. Is there anything else you need to know?"

"Just one last thing." said Watson. "What is your relationship to Harmya Rose Verma?"

"Oh, she works for us at the saloon. She's a real sweetheart." Amos smiles. "Too sweet for her own good."

"Was she ever involved in any of the altercations Bart was so famous for?" Watson asked trying to get an answer for her bruises.

"How do you mean?" he asked trying to hide the worry in his voice.

"Did Bart ever get into scuffles with Hermya?" Sherlock asked.

"Hermya would never hurt a fly. Now Bart on the other hand" Amos searched for words "I thought that he ought to have been kinder when addressing her. She looked to him like a father, y'know"

"Was he disrespectful to her?" Watson asked trying not to let his own anger get in the way.

"I'd say so. I always thought she was wonderful and she always did right by us but Bart would constantly start fights when other men tried to speak with her. And…" he trailed off.

"And?" Sherlock eyed Watson. Watson looked back at him knowing he'd figured it out already. He was just waiting to hear it from Amos' mouth.

Amos stands and walks towards the window "Now I.." he looks out the window as if he might find the right words in the street below. "Like I said before; he was far too rough and I thought he ought to just leave Harmya alone."

"So he fought with Harmya often?" Sherlock stood and walked towards Amos.

"Harmya never started any fights but she'd get upset whenever one of us got overprotective." Amos turned around to face Sherlock "But Bart's version of protective was different then mine. He wouldn't let her go anywhere without his permission and that got them into some arguments. But don't go thinking she had anything to do with this." Amos' tone grew more passionate. "She's a good girl and I wouldn't let nobody besmirch her reputation."

"Well, she is an exotic dancer" Sherlock said knowingly trying to push Amos.

"That don't mean she ain't a lady. Bart had no respect for her and she looked to him like a father. I'd do anything to keep her safe" Amos, noticing he'd had a bit of an outburst reverted to looking back to the floor again.

"Thanks very much for your time, Sir" Sherlock bowed and placed his hat back on. "Our deepest condolences"

Back in Holmes office they review what they have so far. "It seems Amos and his late brother although always together were two very different people. One a recluse, the other loud and overbearing"

"And violent" Watson added.

"I think Amos, although shy has a temper as well. It was just always outshined by Bart's." Sherlock added with a smile. "That's the key. Everything Bart did outshined Amos. You heard how he spoke about him. Amos was always in the background. Especially when it came to Harmya's affections."

"You think he has feelings for her?" Watson asked.

"Well, you'd be the expert on the subject, wouldn't you, old boy" Sherlock laughs lighting his pipe.

"And just what are you implying?" Watson scoffed as he sat on the leather arm chair.

"You were practically drooling over her at the saloon but not to worry I think she's interested in you" Sherlock smiles

"You think so?" Watson notes the eager tone in his voice and clears his throat. "Well, I was intrigued by her performance as I'm sure many people are. I'd be a fool not to notice"

"And a fool not to notice Amos was truly jealous of how close Bartholomew was to Harmya." Sherlock added "I suspect when Amos discovered Bartie had been laying his hands on her he snapped."

"Do you think he'd have what it takes to kill his own brother?" Watson inquired.

"He's the right hight and build and he has a good motive. He seems to look like a prime suspect." Sherlock twirls his cane. "But we need something more solid for evidence."

"Maybe if we can get Harmya to open up to us. She was clearly hiding the truth from us before" Watson suggested.

"I'm sure you'd love to get Harmya to open up" Holmes joked. Watson crossed his arms and rolled his eyes at Holmes.

"But you are right" Holmes added. "She didn't give us a lot of information. Think you're up for the challenge, Watson?"

"What?" John Watson raised an inquisitive eyebrow as he looked at Holmes.

"She won't talk to me but you on the other hand…" he pointed at Watson with his walking stick.

"Get that thing out of my face, Holmes" Watson pushes the stick out of his face. "You think if I talk to her she'll just divulge private information about her personal affairs?" Watson scoffs

"Don't act so naive" Sherlock puffs on his pipe as he leans against the desk by the arm chair. "You saw the way she smiled every time she said 'Doctor' " he initiated her voice.

"Fine I'll talk with her" Watson got up from his chair and began to put on his coat. "But only because of the information she might possess. Don't get any wild ideas, Holmes"


	3. Chapter 3

Harmya sat down and faced herself if the mirror over her dark mahogany dresser. It was an old mirror; flecks of rust spread from its corners like webs spun by golden spiders. She cocked her head to the side a little and stared blankly at herself. She brushed her long black hair out of her face with her hands. Then turned and looked at the light bruise on her shoulder. She let out a sigh.

Bartholomew was dead and she wasn't sure how she ought to feel about it. Her father passed away when she was so young that Bart was the only father figure she knew but she wasn't a fool. She understood he had his faults; everyone does.

A knock on the door derails her train of thought. Realizing she's in nothing but her white lace nickers she quickly grabs a purple silk robe hanging from a coat rack to cover herself and pinned her hair back as best she can.

She opens the front door about an inch and peeks through the crack with one eye. "Yes?" she says quietly.

"I hope I'm not disturbing… but I…" Watson was interrupted.

"Oh Doctor! Please come in! I didn't realize you were coming or I…Come in" she opens the door and Watson removes his gray bowler hat politely as he steps into the small disarranged apartment.

"I would have tidied up if I'd known you'd be stopping by" she looked around and quickly stuffed things away into drawers and under the bed. "You want some tea? I'm making some right now" the pot whistles "and there it is" she chuckles nervously feeling a bit embarrassed by the disheveled appearance of her apartment and herself.

"Yes, Thank you. Don't mind if I do." Watson sat down in a faded red upholstered arm chair. "I'm so very sorry about the intrusion" he couldn't help but smile at seeing Harmya scrambling about in the kitchen obviously flustered.

"How do you take it?" Harmya asks. "I put milk and cinnamon in mine"

"Just a bit of sugar will do fine" Watson replied.

She came out of the kitchen and hands him a plain white tea cup. She sits at the chair facing opposite from him and with a big smile asks, "And to what do I owe this surprise visit?"

"Yes, again I do apologize for having caught you off guard" Watson sipped his tea "but we really felt it necessary to speak with you again."

"Yes?" She asked leaning in closer not noticing she had exposed her shoulders in doing so.

"Umm… well my partner and I had thought perhaps you had more to tell us. Perhaps there's something else about Bart and Amos that you had failed to mention before." he sounded a bit like a father coaxing a confession out of a child.

"Whatever do you mean?" Harmya said sipping her tea.

"We know he was a violent man, Ms Verma" he said warmly as he looked her in the eye. "I'm a doctor, Harmya. I know where those bruises on your arms come from."

"Understand that Bartie and Amos took me in when I was just a kid and everything they do for me is out of the love and kindness of their hearts" Harmya said feeling a tightening in the back of her throat. "Bartie was just more hands on then Amos but he meant nothing by it." She told herself that a lot.

Watson leaned in closer to her and took her hand. "Please tell me exactly what happened the last night you saw him."

Harmya sighed as she looked at her hand in his. "It's hard to say some things sometimes. It's all rather embarrassing" she looks up at him and her brown eyes meet his icy blue gaze. "I guess you're a trustworthy sort of person… and I'm glad you're hear without your partner. He looks like he's constantly judging everyone and everything with his eyes."

"Well, that's what makes him such a sharp detective; although not too well versed in interpersonal relations" he smiles

"I do hope you won't judge me too harshly for this but…." she looked down at her empty tea cup as she spoke as if perhaps the tea leafs would give her some clue as to what words she ought to say. "The night I last saw him we'd been fighting. He'd accused me of having relations with a man which isn't the case at all!" she looked up at Watson. "Just because I dance does not mean I lack any self respect. Of course Bart goes on one of his rampages and grabs me. That's how I got these" she says holding out her arms to show the bruises.

"And that on your left shoulder?" Watson notices the bruise she'd been looking at earlier in the mirror.

Quickly she covered up with her robe. "Sorry" she whispered. "Well, Amos is very upset by all this, the poor dear, and he tries to calm his brother down. Bart pushes me to the ground and yells something rude about my being some sort of harlot and storms out." she keeps her composure but is holding back tears. "Amos runs to me and wipes a tear from my eye and says how Bart was in the wrong and that he was going to pay for ….He said, 'for mistreating something so beautiful'. Isn't that the sweetest thing you ever heard?"

"Well, he's right in saying so." Watson kept his hand in hers though he very much wanted to wipe the tears from her eyes. To caress her cinnamon skin. He shook his head as if that would clear it of the thought; the thought of the contours of her delicate neck; her exposed shoulders.

Harmya bit her lower lip noticing they'd been gazing at each other a second too long. It was when she saw Watson's gaze move to her lips that she quickly stood and faced her back to him. "So you see why I couldn't tell you that. I'm no detective but I know how bad it sounds. It sounds like Amos was threatening him."

Watson stood up slowly and quickly moved his gaze away from her exposed shoulder blade. "You don't think he meant it?" he asks slowly walking up behind her. "If he cared for you as much as I do, he meant it."


	4. Chapter 4

"No." Harmya turns around "I'm not hearing this" she bites her lip as she tries to hold the flood of tears starting to form behind her eyes. "I'm not hearing this right new. If you're here to find more proof to put the only family I have left behind bars I'm not…" she trailed off for a moment as it sunk in.

Watson half smiled noticing his little confession had gone unnoticed. "I understand, but I'm trying to help you."

"I know" Harmya forces a smile as her hand runs lightly down Watson's arm and meets his hand. "And I truly thank you for it."

Watson tightens the grip on her hand slightly as he lifts it up to his lips for a kiss. "If only we'd met under better circumstances." he smiles weakly and turned to leave.

"Doctor!" Harmya stopped him just outside the door. "So…you say you love me." a smile grows on her face.

Watson chuckles "I thought you hadn't noticed" he put his hands in his pockets suddenly seeming rather shy.

Harmya softly places her hand on his shoulder and kisses his cheek. "Thank you so very much for everything, Doctor" she slowly backs into the door and goes back inside.

Watson tries his hardest to wipe the ridiculous smile on his face as he walks back to Baker st.

Finding Holmes immersed in a copy of Tuesday's paper, Watson begins to say in a defeated tone "Well you were right about Harmya, Holmes" Watson said plopping down his hat on the table and draping his coat over the large red armchair.

"As per usual" Holmes says without looking up from his newspaper.

"Yes, well she opened up and told me everything we were already thinking." Watson sits in the armchair and continues "Bart was a manipulative overbearing father figure who controlled Harmya's every move and Amos promised her that he would pay dearly for having the audacity to strike her. Amos really sounds like our man… But.." he sighs and stands up "Harmya thinks so highly of him it would break her heart" Watson begins pacing "Maybe it's a matter of self -defense"

"Even if it was self defense he still needs a court hearing." Holmes finally looks down from his paper and grabs his pipe from the table beside his armchair. "Hiding isn't really helping his case though, is it? People who are innocent don't usually try to hide." Holmes lights his pipe. "I think we have quite enough to issue a warrant for his arrest"

But Lestrade would come to find an empty house after reaching Amos McMillan's address. Amos had been on his way to Harmya's when he saw Watson walking out the door. He waited until the doctor's coach was out of sight and walked up the stairs to her door. His knock was urgent.

"Amos?" Harmya's voice is breathy as she clasps her robe up to her chest. "What's the matter?"

He quietly walks inside. "What did you tell them? his voice is calm but still Harmya feels a frightening chill.

"Tell who?" she ties her robe. "Can you wait till I'm decent, please"

"You're trying to change the subject!" he loses his pretended calm tone but quickly finds it again. "Those men want to frame me, Rose." he puts his hands on her shoulders "Anything you say they can use against me so what did you tell him." His grip grows tighter. "I saw him leave just now so why was he here?"

"The doctor?" Harmya Rose lied "He's a doctor, Amos. He came to make sure I was in good health, mental health. With all that's gone on he wanted to make sure everything was all right."

"You seemed alright when you kissed him goodbye, didn't you." Amos grips harder. He digs into the bruise on Harmya's left shoulder and she lets out a wince.

"I'm so sorry" he quickly bounces back to his soft-spoken tone. I forgot about your bruise. The bruise Bartholomew gave you. That's why you need me around to protect you, Rosie." he strokes her face gently with his left hand. "You've grown from a little orphan girl to a beautiful young woman thanks to your uncle Amos."

"Have you been drinking, Amos?" Harmya Rose smells the liquor in his breath. She backs away slowly till she hits the back of her armchair. "Why don't you sit down, Amos and I'll make you something. I'm afraid the tea's gone cold but I can.."

"No it's time you sit down" Amos watches her sit quickly. He turns around to face her on the chair one arm hanging on to the back of the chair he leans in closer. "You wouldn't hurt me would you? Your only family. The man who loves you. What would you have done without my help. Running homeless in the streets doing God knows what to survive."

"And I thank you for that very much, Mr. McMillan" Rosie's 12 again.

"And now with Bart out of the way we can be happy together."Amos strokes her cheek "He was always in the way, controlling the both of us."

"You were always the kinder one, Amos. So please be kind to me now" Harmya said worried as she felt his hand go from her cheek to her arm. His touch was soft but it felt discomforting.

"I've always been the one who loves you. I'll be kind to you. I'll be … " his words slur away as his lips fall into hers.

Quickly Harmya pushes him away and runs for the door but Amos catches her. " Do you love the Doctor more then me? I gave you this home." he has her pinned against the wall beside the front door. "I removed Bart for us and now I have to remove him too, do I?" he kisses her again. Harmya finds a chance to grab a vase beside the table and hits him with it. Amos doesn't topple over but looks dizzy.

Then in a blurry haze of confusion and panic Harmya hears the front door burst open and coppers rush in. "Amos McMillan, you're under arrest for the murder of Bartholomew McMillan and the attempted assault on Harmya Rose Verma." She sinks down to the floor, her knees to her chest when she sees Holmes and Watson's blurred visages through the tears bubbling up from behind her eyes.

"Are you hurt?" the doctor's words sounded distant as if they'd been spoken from the other end of a tunnel. Everything fades to black

Harmya didn't come to see the execution. Instead she looks through the window of Holmes and Watson's apartment out into the wet streets of London wondering what came next. The men who'd raised her for the past 10 years were gone but she didn't need raising anymore, did she.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the gentle hand of Mrs Hudson. "Tea, darling?" It'd been four weeks since the hanging and she'd been spending a lot more time on Baker st. "Thank you" Harmya stirred the spoon and watched the sugar dissolve.

Looking up at the window she sees a familiar reflection standing at the doorway behind her smiles. "Will you be joining me, Doctor?"

He chuckles as the small red velvet box rolls in his hand.


End file.
